


Conciliation

by Chelle1117



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Foursome - F/M/M/M, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-10
Updated: 2011-07-10
Packaged: 2017-10-21 06:05:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chelle1117/pseuds/Chelle1117
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teyla's tired of the tension and mistrust that has entered the team's working relationship, so she decides to stage an intervention with Ronon and Rodney. John's the one being intervened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conciliation

Teyla still wakes sometimes, snatched out of slumber by the sound and vision of Kate falling, sailing through the air screaming as John holds her prisoner with strong arms and an evil smile. Her eyes jerk open, breath snatched as though space itself has sucked the last bit of oxygen while she’d been sleeping, and her heart is slow to regain its resting rate. Her hand, the right one, the one she used to greet those of Earth, settles over her heart and it’s as though she can physically reach in with her long fingers and restore its rhythm.

It’s easy, some nights, to remember that what’s jerked her awake is nothing but a dream. John is not the malevolent force he seems to be in dreams, the entity that had taken his form long since gone and surrounded by those of its own kind. Routine had mostly been restored on Atlantis, including sleep patterns. The comfort of regularity resumed, and Teyla can fend off the nightmare in the face of what’s real. But other nights…when the sky on this new planet is clouded over and no light from the stars or moons filter in through the Lantean glass, finding herself again - finding reality - is difficult in a way it’s never been before, even when sharing a mind with the Wraith Queen.

One morning after a night in which she can’t fully recover the truth, Teyla decides enough is enough. While returning to normal and never speaking or acting on the events and images of the nightmares is one thing, she knows the time will come for confrontation. Balance, ease, _trust_ must be restored. Never one to shy away from such moments, it is not in her nature to back down without reaching some resolution, and resolution is what the team needs. The fear the entity spread from person to person has not been addressed, and its remnants are affecting everyone, especially her team.

She speaks first to Rodney. It is a difficult prospect, Rodney being who he is, but without him, her mission – the one she’s chosen for herself - will fail.

She’s observed John and Rodney together for the last three years. Theirs is a bond that is strong, though unspoken. Rodney is an integral part of John’s life, and any attempt to restore order and cohesion between them all will inevitably fail if Rodney is not a part of the reconciliation.

She asks him if he’s had nightmares, and he responds with typical sarcasm: “If you exclude the nearly nightly occurrences of being eaten alive by this planet’s version of a huge white sperm whale while my best friend simultaneously threatens me and helps me paddle, then, well. No. I haven't had any nightmares.”

“I, too have been having disturbing dreams. Ones no longer associated with the entity that looked so much like Colonel Sheppard,” she responds, patience tempering her voice and softening her expression.

Rodney inhales deeply, “Mmmhmm. Well. That’s not totally unexpected. I’ll assume, since you’ve come to see me and are asking me about my nocturnal adventures, that you have some sort of plan to put a stop to them?”

“You are correct.”

Rodney puts down the tablet he’s working on and turns more fully toward her. “Then, by all means, I’m all ears. Because I gotta say, I’m pretty damn sick and tired of getting eaten.”

The two of them approach Ronon.

*****

Rodney thinks the conversation with Ronon is pretty much monosyllabic, but the gist is that whatever Teyla and Rodney think, then that’s fine with Ronon and once they’re finished, can they get back to killing Wraith? Only, not in so many words. Mostly just, “Whatever. Let’s go.” It’s all in the inflection, see? Only Ronon has no inflection, and it’s just another instance of Rodney getting closer than comfortable to another member of the team who is not John. Or maybe he’s projecting? But psychology’s never been his forte, so he’s just going to go with the thought that Ronon wants things back to normal as well, and that’s what those three little teeny, tiny insignificant words mean.

The walk from Ronon’s quarters to John’s is tread in silence, except for Ronon’s heavy bootsteps and the silken rustle of fabric against itself. Teyla has apparently dressed for the occasion. Rodney wished he’d noticed that first. She’s really quite beautiful, in that ‘this woman can kill you with a flick of her wrists’ kind of way, but blue, especially that curiously reflective shade, is gorgeous on her skin, and Rodney counts himself lucky – not for the first time – that she’s his friend.

He smiles.

“What?” Ronon’s abrupt question interrupts Rodney’s thoughts, chasing the smile from his lips.

“What, what?”

A sigh. “What’s with the smile? This supposed to be fun, now?”

Rodney waves him off, and glances at Teyla, who keeps her gaze steadfastly forward. “No, no. Just…thinking about…something. It’s nothing.”

And great. Now he’s focused on Ronon. Barbarian of Atlantis. But, then, not. He’s graceful in a way that someone that large, intimidating and deadly should not ever be. But there you have it.

Rodney watches the way Ronon’s legs bend, the way his arms sway at his side, fingers curled as though ready at any moment to fight, and he wonders why Ronon is still so poised for violence. But then he remembers Ronon’s expression. How hard, mistrusting, calculating it used to be – studying all of them for weaknesses and honing in on Rodney’s in less than a minute.

That stony set to Ronon’s face has been replaced with – while not really relaxation – détente. Ronon trusts them. Has made sacrifices for them. And it shows on his face, with the easy looks, the rare, but genuine smiles that crop up. He teases Rodney, low words rumbled with a wry smile and wicked gleam in black eyes. He confides in Teyla, seeking guidance in how to be accepted in this world, and Rodney only knows that because he does it too. That’s what Teyla does. She listens. It’s an innate part of her, and the idea that Ronon wouldn’t reveal himself to her is just plain stupid. And if there’s one thing Rodney has learned about Ronon it’s that Ronon is far from stupid.

Granted, his first reaction to any given situation may include violence, but he’s cautious, focused, centered, and that’s okay with Rodney. But Ronon has learned when and where violence is needed, and that’s been through Teyla’s influence.

And John’s.

And isn’t that the whole reason they’re in this hallway? Walking toward John’s quarters. The ease and compatibility has gone, and they – Teyla, Ronon, and Rodney – are making their way to bring it back.

*****

Ronon feels McKay’s eyes on his back. It’s a pinprick sensation leeching down his skin, a constant, almost tangible feeling. He can almost trace the movement of McKay’s gaze down his body, and only through the strongest effort is he able to keep his reaction to it secret.

His body betrays him, inch by inch. His muscles are tight and ready, eyes focused and ears ready to fix on any sound. His heart beats more quickly than he’d like, and his skin feels on fire. Every sense is alert for whatever was coming or threatening, and all because McKay was studying him, just as he’d been studying Teyla a moment ago.

When Ronon had glanced back at McKay and seen that small smile, he’d closed his eyes against the want that had flared in him. He’d wanted that smile for himself. And that was new. He won’t look back again.

The smile on McKay’s face as he’d looked at Teyla was new. That Ronon knew it was new was something he’d have to think about later, but right now, they had a mission to accomplish. But the smile. And now the sharp perusal of himself, and Ronon's thrown.

He knew only a few things, since the whole dream invasion had happened. The team weren’t working well together anymore. Sheppard is too quiet, almost timid in his command. Sure, he trusts his team to do as ordered, but that was the problem. He isn’t ordering anymore. Tentative. Questioning. Asking permission. That’s what it feels like to be under Sheppard’s command now.

It grated. Ronon had attached himself to this unit because of their fierceness and loyalty and ability. He refused to be under a weaker man’s command again, and the way things were now was too close to that for comfort. If it took visiting Sheppard – an intervention, as Teyla had put it – to get things back to normal, then that was fine with Ronon.

But the constant twinge of McKay’s eyes on him has him wishing there was a different way to fix whatever had gone wrong. Be damned if he could think of what that way was.

*****

John’s just coming out of the shower, barely dressed when the tone sounds letting him know he has a visitor.

“Come in,” he says, and slides his eyes to the door, the corner of his lip tilting up when it swishes open.

Thinking he just had one visitor, he blinks in surprise when Rodney and Ronon follow Teyla into his quarters. He takes a deep breath, knowing there wouldn’t be enough air for that in the next few minutes. Atlantis’ quarters were too tight, too small, for more than two people. And he hasn’t had another person in his quarters since that dreaming incident.

He lets his gaze flit over all three other members of his team, and if his eyes rest a little longer on McKay, well, then, that’s his business.

“Teyla. Ronon,” he says, nodding at them, then “Rodney,” whispered a little more softly. He clears his throat. “What’s up?”

“John,” Teyla starts. She has her head tilted in that ‘we need to talk’ sort of way she has, and John swallows, runs his hands over his head. “Things are not…” she trails off and takes a breath.

John hears Ronon grunt, and shift his stance. Long legs separate and thick arms fold over themselves against his chest. Ronon looks ready for a fight, and John’s not exactly sure where it’ll be coming from.

Rodney just looks flustered and determined.

Teyla starts again. “Something is wrong with…us,” she finishes, sweeping an arm out to include everyone in the room.

“Well, that’s a terrific way to start things.” Rodney huffs.

John stares at them, curious, but wanting to hear the rest.

“What she means, Colonel, is that, well, we’re not working as well together as we should be. The cohesiveness of this unit is under serious strain right now, and we’re here to fix it. However we have to. I’m not sure exactly what fixing the problem will entail, but that’s just what we have to do. And did I mention this was Teyla’s idea and that I had nothing to do with it? You know, in case this turns out to be a disaster?”

Teyla’s lips purse as she turns what can only be described as her best glare on Rodney, who remains oblivious, smiling nervously at John.

There’s a sigh from the side of the room where Ronon stands, and then, “Sheppard. You invaded our dreams. Did some things we don’t understand, and now we don’t trust you. Or. You’re afraid that we don’t trust you. Either way, we’re not working well together anymore.”

“Oh.” John sits down on the bed and looks up at all three of them. “So how do we fix it?”

Teyla answers him. “We…need to know you’re real and not just-”

“An imposter!” This, followed by several snaps of Rodney’s fingers, like he’s just figured out the answer to all the universe’s equations. “He just… _it_ looked so much like _you_ and sounded like you. I just want to know that the guy with the weird hair flying my 'jumper is you and not some fake you, bent on destroying me. Or, well, us.” He finishes, catching Ronon’s eye.

“Okay. I get that,” John says, nodding. “I do. You all need to _know_ I’m the real John Sheppard. Understandable.” He cocks an eyebrow. “One of you mind explaining how we’re gonna do that, reassure you guys that I’m…real.”

Ronon takes a deep breath behind him, and John turns to him. Ronon relaxes, lets his arms drop to his sides, and says, “When I want to know real, when I want to be sure of where I am, I feel things. The bark of this tree, the feel of that leaf on that plant. Both tell me where I am, and that I’m still free.”

“Okay.” John nods, drawing the word out.

Ronon continues. “It’s not just about touch, though. It’s everything, sight, sounds, smells," he pauses. Then, "Taste.”

“Yes, yes! All of those!" Rodney latches on to the concept, as Ronon's described. "The senses keep us grounded in what’s real. In our dreams, we could see you, hear you, even touch you. But smell? Taste? Not so much.”

John closes his eyes, thinks about what Ronon and Rodney have said. Then Teyla’s warm hand takes his, and she wraps her fingers through and over his own and asks, “Do you understand?”

John says, “Yes,” and it’s as though he’s opened the floor.

Rodney moves to stand in front of him, but it’s not long before he’s on his knees, his hot sweaty hands resting on John’s thighs, fingers digging into the hard muscle. Ronon sits on the bed behind him, wraps an arm over his chest and pulls him back so that John’s back is resting against Ronon’s chest, and John’s almost overwhelmed with the heat that radiates off him.

Ronon’s face is next to his own, so John hears and feels the deep indrawn breath, like he's being inhaled. John is oxygen and Ronon is suffocating without him. It’s a heady sensation, making John’s thoughts scatter and fly away. When that indrawn breath is exhaled, it floats down his neck, over his skin and under his t-shirt. It raises goosebumps over his exposed skin. Then there are lips on his neck, then a tongue.

He tightens his fist around Teyla’s fingers, and feels her return the favor. He hisses.

Teyla whispers, “John,” and she’s so close to him her breath is a sweet exhale against his ear. Her lips soft and warm against the skin of his neck.

Rodney’s still on his knees in front of John. He’s laid his forehead against one of John’s legs, and his hands, those hot hands that had gripped his thighs so tightly, are now on his ankles. Blunt fingers find their way to bare skin and scratch through crisp hairs.

John shivers, legs quivering under the assault.

Ronon’s fingers gather his shirt up, scratching at the heated skin of John’s belly, and John’s breath hitches. It’s too much. He’s flying and falling, and soaring and blowing apart all at once, and he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s real and wants nothing more than to prove it to his team, so he sits there, on his bed, letting them touch him, taste him, breathe him in.

Teyla is whispers that he’s safe, they’re safe, they’ll make this right and nothing will ever be able to come between them again.

Ronon’s lips suck up patches of skin along his shoulder, leaving purple bruises everywhere he goes. Marks meant to sustain, to reinforce. What, John didn’t know, but he’d see them later and remember this moment. The moment he felt the thundering reality of himself. He’s real, and he’s swallowed by the heat and sensation of his team and they’re real and all will be right in the world when they’re all naked together.

Then Ronon pulls his shirt off, and Rodney’s fingers are pushing beneath the waist of his pants, and Teyla’s hands are all over his bare skin.

Ronon stands up, steps away from the bed, and the jingle of buckles and the slide of leather against skin is loud, but Teyla pushes John back and down, until he's laid out in front of all of them. He opens his eyes, lifts his hips, letting Rodney slide his pants down his legs. It’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen when Rodney’s arm stretches out beside him and John’s pants just seem to float to the ground. They land with a soft swish of material, then Rodney’s lips are on his skin, then his tongue and John moans, low and needy.

“Rodney,” he says, and shifts his hips again, seeking friction and any sensation to couple that of Rodney’s hot mouth.

Ronon sits beside him, dark skin shining in the false light of Atlantis, blue and green and white. John reaches out to touch him, shocked to find Ronon’s skin is cool to the touch. He trails his fingers over Ronon’s skin, over his scars. He watches Ronon’s head fall back and his mouth open, sucking in a breath, a gasp of pleasure. Then John turns his head, and his lips open on the smooth skin of Ronon’s thigh.

Teyla’s hand runs over his head, fingers threading through his hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. He likes that, and pushes into the delicate touch, a panther stretching up for petting. She leans down again, whispers again into his ear.

“Let us hear you, John.” Soft words against his ear.

He moans, soft, low and guttural, then Rodney does something phenomenally wicked with his tongue and teeth on John’s thigh, and John hisses, “sshhh” on the verge of a word, but can’t push the vowels out.

Ronon’s hand cups his jaw and lifts John up, then there are lips on his, and for the life of him he doesn’t know whose they are. Ronon’s, Teyla’s it doesn’t matter, because the lips are real and warm and taste like rain and heat and John drinks, like he hasn’t had water in days.

Ronon pulls him over onto his side, and Teyla fits herself behind him, her arms wrapping around his waist and holding him still and steady. Her mouth settles on the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck.

Rodney rises from his place at the foot of the bed, up onto his knees, and John watches him as he crawls up to settle behind Teyla. Then John feels Rodney’s hand settle just below Teyla’s on his stomach.

Ronon stretches out in front of him, drapes a leg over all three of them and stretches his arm out over them. He pulls them all in tight, and John’s eveloped, surrounded by the scent and sound and feel of his team. He opens his eyes, sees himself reflected in Ronon’s black irises and smiles.

Ronon smiles back. Teyla’s lips curve into a smile against his neck, and from just behind her, John can hear Rodney’s deep even breathing.

They’re real. And they’re warm. And they’re together.

And it’s perfect.

  



End file.
